


he's got a soul as sweet as blood red jam (he knows every inch of my tar black soul)

by glassbones



Series: you can't see it with your eyes, hold it in your hands, this thing called love [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Disgustingly sweet, Falling In Love, First Time, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Medical School, Pre-Canon, kinda???, not an angsty fic for once, the dorks are roughly 27, vanilla chilton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 13:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1984860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassbones/pseuds/glassbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don't fall in love at first sight (you don't believe anyone does). You fall in love in a parking lot when you watch Hannibal tear a label off a shitty beer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he's got a soul as sweet as blood red jam (he knows every inch of my tar black soul)

**Author's Note:**

> *screams* yoUNG MURDER HUSBANDS THOUGH. MEDICAL INTERNSHIP. CUBAN CHILTON. BROKE ASS LECTER. LIVING IN A CRAP FLAT TOGETHER. DRUNKEN MAKING OUT. FEELS. F E E L I N G S.
> 
> timeline is roughly post-Hannibal Rising because this fic prompt hit me as soon as i found out that hannibal was offered an internship in baltimore and, y'know. there is this hot sassy psychiatrist who had also probably had an internship in baltimore

You don't fall in love at first sight (you don't believe _anyone_ does). You fall in love in a parking lot when you watch Hannibal tear the label off a shitty beer. His hair is getting into his eyes just so; later he will use a tremendous amount of hair gel to style it so it wouldn't. Right now he doesn't have the money to buy hair gel; Hannibal barely had enough for the shitty beer both of you are drinking.

* * *

He smokes Lucky Strike, and so do you (because you like what he likes). He's a few years older but he looks your age. You love him.

It doesn't feel strange or foreign to you, as if you had lived with the feeling for a much longer time.

* * *

You love him tenderly (it's your first time falling in love) and tragically (he doesn't know it is), all of him, every single bone and every inch of skin.

You ask him for a drag of his cigarette and close your eyes when you inhale the smoke because _his lips were touching it_ and now yours are; you feel something ignite inside your chest and you're feeling so alive it hurts you physically because it _burns burns burns_ and--

You don't close your eyes when he kisses you; it's just a soft and moist touch of his lips on yours. A promise. Chaste and safe. Your arms wrap around him instinctively with whatever weird monkey instincts you have buried deep in your body.

"Hannibal," you say to his cheekbone. He smiles and kisses you again (and again, and again, _and again_ , until you're both out of breath).

You're feeling so alive it hurts.

**Author's Note:**

> if you happened to notice any typos/mistakes, PLEASE let me know  
> feedback is appreciated
> 
> the monkey instincts bit stolen from thomas violence's the lake (which is a wonderful poem and you should read it)


End file.
